The Sea Less Sailed
by Buhnanuers
Summary: Series of one-shots centered around completely OC characters Garret and his dragon Saska. May or may not eventually include actual HTTYD characters
1. Well this sucks

The Sea Less Sailed

Chapter 1: …Well this sucks

Garrett frowned.

The dark, foreboding clouds in the distance didn't do much to lighten the mood, and the frequent lightning strikes sure didn't help, either.

Yet another boom from the storm swept over the deck of his ship, if you call a pathetic amalgamation of planks and cloth a ship, startling a snow-white dragon desperately trying to nap.

Garrett looked over to his dragon, chuckling, "You're not gonna get much sleep now, girl," the dragon half-opened her left eye, staring back at her human. "That storm'll be on us before midday. We _might_ evade it, but…"

The dragon curled even tighter into a ball, draping herself in her under-sized wings and burying her head underneath, abandoning the world around her.

Garrett rolled his eyes and turned back to the threat looming before them, "Yeah, thanks for the support, Saska."

She growled.

Garrett's brown eyes locked on the storm-front, the rolling chaos mirroring the torrent in his mind. They, being him and Saska, were well and truly screwed, and not just because of the raging storm. That Briton village was none too pleased to find out their entire collection of wealth was sitting below his deck.

He groaned, closing his eyes and resting his head in his hands on remembering what would've made them rich. If it weren't for Saska getting caught in their impressively thrown fishing net, they'd be long gone and onto better lives.

But no.

He had to throw it all away in what he considered the best and the worst plan that's ever worked. He'd grabbed the sack of gold, about the size of his arm weighing about as much, and ran at the men pinning his dear Saska down, swinging his bludgeon like a madman (screaming like one, too). After shattering the ribs of one man and nearly caving another's skull in, Garrett was able to ward off the men and free Saska. He didn't have time to turn around and run. By the time the final rope binding her was cut, Saska grabbed Garrett's torso in her jaws and sprinted to the ship. The resulting bouncing from within her maw caused Garrett's grip on the loot sack to loosen and fall from his grasp.

He had yelled at her to turn around, but she wasn't having it. No stupid human shiny stuff was going to get her human hurt. No amount of pounding on her snout and angry words would sway her, either.

And now they were out at sea. Running - er, well, sailing – away from superior Briton ships. Into a storm.

Great!

Garrett ran his hands through his short, auburn hair, its locks crazy and unpredictable, much like the storm. And the Briton's, too.

He stood up, his medium frame nothing to boast about, and strode over to the hatch leading below deck.

Climbing inside, he moved to a chest at the far end of the room and opened it. From inside, he pulled out a dull, rusting in some spots, steel sword, barely longer than his arm and sheathed in a dull, leather sheath. He pulled the sword from the scabbard, revealing the disappointing blade as it faintly reflected the dim light penetrating the many holes in the deck above him. Garrett sighed. As far as weaponry went, this was the best he had.

That was excluding Saska, of course, but he wasn't going to treat her as a living weapon.

He reached into the chest again and pulled out a bundle of leather straps, to which he attached the scabbard. He threw the loop over his shoulder, a strap secured around his waist and another from over his right shoulder to his left hip, across his chest. The sword hung on his back, the pommel jutting out over his right shoulder, where his right hand could easily reach and draw it.

He wasn't particularly good with swords, and he was painfully aware of it. His skills were so poor that he never bothered to take it with him anywhere. It usually only served to weigh him down. But, better to have a piece of junk than nothing at all. Or so he at least liked to think.

Garrett gripped the pommel of the sword and drew it from the scabbard, fumbling a bit and nearly dropping it. Slightly bent over and gripping it in both hands, he spun around to his left, swinging the sword in a large arc. He grunted heroically as he lifted the sword over his head, ready to swing down on is victim.

"I have you now, scum!"

He swung down at his make-believe opponent, feeling all too good with himself. As his blade struck the wood beneath him, he heard a bark, followed by wailing, from above him.

As he gazed up, he incredulously realized that, somehow, his skill with a blade had been so inept that it had slipped through the cracks in the deck above and nicked the underside of Saska's tail.

Garrett looked up with the fear of a thousand men. Still bent over and gripping the sword, he weakly choked out, "Sorry, girl."

Garrett jumped and slipped onto his side as an ear-splitting roar pierced through the planks from above. Several seconds passed before the dragon relented, leaving a dazed and terrified Garrett laying on the deck. It took even longer for the ringing in his ears to subside.

Propping himself on his elbow and digging into his right ear with his finger, Garrett clumsily lifted himself to his feet. Never mind about glory and swordsmanship, just let them outrun the Britons so he never had to go topside again.

Now shakily on his feet, Garrett looked over to his mirror, which, incidentally, happened to be the most valuable thing on the ship.

Through the mirror, he saw an average-sized man with a meager physique and laughable facial hair. His time spent working his ship had toned his muscles to a fair degree, but nothing near bragging about. His white, sleeveless shirt was stained with dirt and sweat, and his brown, faded trousers were torn at the cusp of his leggings. Don't get him started on his old, leather boots.

The image he saw didn't exactly instill confidence. Hell, it didn't instill much of anything at all, really.

Garrett sighed, running his hand over the weak stubble on his chin that refused to grow any further. Most 24 year-old men were sporting full blown forests on their faces by now. But no, not for Garrett.

Everything about him screamed _average_.

Well, except for the dragon. Angry dragon. _His_ angry dragon.

Garrett steeled himself, mentally and physically, and strode back to the deck hatch. As a precaution, he partially drew his sword from his scabbard and left it there. Just in case.

He climbed up the ladder and cracked open the hatch, peering around the deck for any angry blurs of white scales. He opened the hatch further, emerging more from the hole. After sweeping the entire deck and not finding a single sign of death itself, Garrett stepped out onto the deck and sighed in relief and incredible discomfort.

Before he could register another thought, Garrett's face was slammed into the deck, a strong force pinning him down on the small of his back. He squinted his eyes and yelled, both in fear and pain. Above him, a deep, steady growl sent chills through his spine.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated over and over again. He was absolutely paralyzed with fear. The paw holding him down wasn't even necessary anymore.

Saska flipped him over onto his back, where fierce, azure eyes pierced through his soul. Garrett brought his hands up to his chest as Saska began to bare her fangs, her snout mere inches from Garrett's face. Behind her, Saska's tail was lashing furiously, banging into the mast and starboard railing with enough force to make the ship groan more than it usually does.

Suddenly, Saska reared up on her front paws, opening her maw and sucking in air. Garrett threw his hands in front of his face, screaming in fear, " _HAVE MERCY, O'GREAT AND WONDEROUS GOD!"_

Saska flew her head down and roared, full force, directly into Garrett's face, as if a tear in the heavens had split open and dumped every though of malice upon him, specifically.

After what must've been an eternity, Saska relented, pulling herself off of Garrett, stepping back, and sitting on her haunches, content, but irritated. She brandished her tail in plain view of Garrett, making obvious the damage he had done.

Garrett, once again, propped himself on his elbow, running his hand over his head and ears. He looked at the scratch, for it was truly just a scratch, and scoffed at her, "Saska, you big baby, it's just a little cut." He lifted himself up and sat, cross-legged on the deck, looking at her.

She growled venomously.

Garrett recoiled back, throwing his hands up in surrender, "Hoo-kay, never mind. Sorry. Really, I am."

Saska's growling ceased, and her expression changed to that of what appeared to be curiosity and friendliness. Garrett ceased his attempts to rid his ears of ringing and took a moment to appreciate his dragoness.

Despite her size, she still managed to instill fear (at least, in him). Her body was about as long as a Clydesdale horse, her tail essentially doubling that length. Her body was covered in pure, white scales, converging at her spine to reveal an elevated ridge with spines jutting out every so often. At her flanks were 2 appropriately sized wings, the leathery membrane appearing almost transparent in its white coloring. If only they, and Saska in general, were a bit bigger, he'd be able to ride her.

But no.

They're big enough for her, but not for the two of them.

She gets _all_ of the fun, whereas all he got was this damn boat.

Garrett grunted as he pulled himself to his feet. His forehead still hurt and the ringing hadn't stopped, but, hell, he'd been through worse.

Saska came around to Garrett's rear, sniffing at the scabbard strapped to his back and making interested cooing noises.

Garrett shifted around to face her, patting her neck, "Yeah, girl. Been a while since I've pulled this out, hasn't it?"

He lifted his arm and was unsheathing the blade when Saska quickly stepped away from him, head low and growling. Garrett quickly sheathed the sword, alarmed, "Alright, girl, cool it. I'll make sure to be far away from you, should I need it." Garrett looked down and tugged at the strap hugging his chest, "Fat chance it'll do any good, though."

Saska moved over to Garrett, sniffing the strap he was fiddling with before pushing her head into his chest, as if to reassure him.

Garrett smiled, rubbing her smooth, dry scales lovingly. He didn't have much, and, sure he wasn't all that remarkable, but hey, at least he had Saska.

She made life worth living. She made everything worth it. Even the angry Briton's chasing them down.

Speaking of which…

Garrett looked up from his little attention magnet and gazed out to stern. Sure enough, 3 ships in the distance were bearing down on him, not but a few hours away. Dread wormed its way into Garrett's blood. He knew they'd be in pursuit, but not with 3 ships. There must be at least six dozen men on them. How the hell was he supposed to fend them all off? He couldn't outrun them, not in this heap of junk, and Saska only had 4 shots, shots which, even at full power, wouldn't make a dent in the iron-reinforced wood of the Briton ships.

Garrett didn't consider his sword a factor, so he ignored it all together.

Saska jumped in Garrett's hands as another crack of lightning passed over them. He ran his hands over her head, trying to calm her. She laid down on her belly, head slipping away from his arms as she curled into a ball again, hoping to escape from the offending noise. Garrett glared daggers into his oblivious companion's neck. And she claimed to be the brave one!

Garrett made his way to the barely-standing mast at the center of the ship. Rotting in several places and secured to the deck with more wax and poorly-hammered nails than Garrett was comfortable with, he grabbed the rigging of his sails and began adjusting them, prying every ounce of speed he could out of the wind. With luck, they'd be able to catch a swell, evade the storm, and outpace the Briton ships.

More than once, he had to rebind the ropes to the netting as their knots came undone. He'd rebind them, only for them to come unbound again once he pulled at them. He stood on the deck, limply holding a piece of rope and frowned as the entire rigging came undone, the sail crumpling down onto the deck in a heap, covering an alarmed Saska.

He'd been at sea for 5 months and still didn't know how to tie proper knots. That sailor back at Pissed Briton Town had been so kind to knot them for him.

As she fought her way out from under the cover, Garrett notice the wind change direction. His frown deepened as it blew in the opposite direction they were heading, slowing them down. He didn't even have oars.

Saska's head peeked out from under the sail, eyes wide as the full moon as she swept her head around, looking confused. Garrett turned towards her, completely defeated, "Well, girl, looks like we're, both figuratively and literally, up the creek without a paddle. Er, sea. U-up the sea, without a paddle. I mean oar. Up the… eh, you know."

Saska, now freed from the mess of rigging and sail, waddled over to her human friend and sat back on her haunches, looking expectantly at him. Garrett raised his hand and patted the side of her muzzle, his thoughts a flurry of what gruesome and terrible things the Britons would do to him. He had heard that Briton's cut off the hands of thieves. He rubbed his together nervously.

Saska again recoiled as another lightning cracked over them. She stumbled back and bumped against the mast, her fearful gaze fixed on the storm bearing down on them. Garrett strode over to her, placing his hand on her neck and rubbing soothingly, "Come on, Saska. It's only a little storm." He looked over his shoulder to the ever-closer dark clouds. "A vicious, uncomfortably close little storm."

An idea, at that moment, hatched in Garrett's head. A crazy one, to be sure, but, hell, they were desperate enough. Right?

Surely the Briton's wouldn't be as crazy as him and follow him into the storm. Right?

He looked at Saska with excitement, with which he was met with a concerned and upset expression.

"Quit worrying Saska. I'd say our chances are a lot better in there," he pointed into the heart of the storm, "Than with those losers back there." He swung around and pointed to the three ships steaming towards them, the sigil of the Briton lord they had stolen from clear on their sails.

Saska growled in concern and fear, draping her wing over Garrett like an arm and pulling him close to her. She looked to the storm, and didn't turn back. Garrett patted the back of her neck assuredly, "Don't worry. We'll make it. We always do."

...

 _"_ _WHY DID YOU LET ME DO THIS?"_

Garrett screamed with all his might, his voice but a whisper over the howling wind and torrential downpour. He clung to the mast of his ship desperately, the deck rolling to uncomfortable angles, his clothes absolutely drenched. Saska fumbled onto the deck, digging her claws into the wood in a desperate attempt to stay aboard. She roared in response, barely audible.

He gripped the mast tighter as another wave smashed into the port side of the ship, throwing water over the railing and onto the passengers. As the ship crested another wave and slid down the other side, Garrett yelled, "Next time, YOU come up with the plan!"

Saska looked at him confused and concerned, her tail lashing about and wings pinned against her. If she didn't mind her body, the furious winds would overpower her grip and throw her overboard. Chock one up for not having wings, everybody.

Luckily enough, Garrett entering the storm had freaked out the Briton's enough for them to turn around. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, huh?

Another wave crashed into the side of the ship, listing it to port. The angle was so steep that Garrett lost his footing on the deck and dangled from the mast as if vertical. Just as the ship reached the crest of the wave and began leveling out, Garrett glanced back to stern to check on his dragon.

She wasn't there.

Several yards away, at the base of the wave, Saska thrashed on the surface of the water, the storm muffling her roars.

" _SASKA!"_ Garrett shouted. He abandoned his life-pole as the ship leveled out on the wave. He jumped off the stern railing just as the ship's nose tilted down the other side of the wave. Garrett's concern turned to fear as the ship's rudder came up to meet his falling body. He let out a rather feminine scream as the rudder came up and struck his body. Hard.

Dazed, Garrett tumbled down into the swell of the wave. He hit the water on the flat of his back, sending waves of crippling pain through his body. His vision blackened as his mind retreated into unconsciousness. He sank into the ocean as his limbs grew numb. The light around him fading into blackness.

Before losing consciousness, Garrett barely perceived a piercing white paw reach for him, grab him by the waist, and hoist him onto the paws' owner's back.

Saska paddled away, unable to fly and desperate for survival. The now-unconscious human on her back only serving to weigh her down. Her primal instincts told her to abandon the weight and take flight, for all the good that would do her.

But she didn't want to hear that. This human was good. This human was nice.

This human was family.

So, screw it. What would her life be without him?

So she kept swimming.

Even after the sun had long started shining again and blue dominated the sky, she didn't stop swimming.

They'd make it. They always did.

...

 **Well, ain't this excitin'? We done go got ourselves here a story!**

 **This is the very first thing I'm uploading to this site, and is one of the very first fictions I've ever written (literally ever). HTTYD is an extreme guilty pleasure of mine and I'm always kicking around story ideas in my head.**

 **Feels good to finally get one of them down.**

 **Each chapter will typically be a one-shot, though some will directly follow the previous or at least reference another. I'll upload more whenever, I 'unno.**

 **Read, and enjoy. Reviews are appreciated and be brutal.**

 **Please.**

 **I have literally no idea what I'm doing.**


	2. The Spark

The Sea Less Sailed

Chapter 2: The Spark

...

"This is all just a _huge_ misunderstanding, I swear!"

The massive Viking currently lifting Garrett off the ground by the cusp of his tunic fumed with rage. With a grunt, he threw Garrett to the ground, eliciting a surprised yelp from the lean youth. With heavy footsteps, the mountain-of-a-man approached Garrett, a finger pointed at him accusingly.

"Listen 'ere, whelp. I got no time for yer games. Yer gonna tell me, _right bloody now,_ how ya got that staff."

Garrett flopped on his back, hastily backing away in fright. Standing more than a foot over Garrett, the Viking sported a huge, blond beard, braided on the ends, and a large scar tracing over the right side of his face. The sun beat overhead, causing the ends of his beard to glow as if godlike. The Viking came closer still, a muscled arm drawing ever closer to the scabbard laced to his belt. Garrett held one hand up, attempting, and failing, to calm the man down.

'N-now, no n-need to be hasty, Bjorn, my friend. I can explain everything!"

Bjorn stopped, staring down right into Garrett's eyes. With a blur, he drew his sword and planted it firm in front of his throat, "Start talkin'."

Garrett gulped, his hand hovering cautiously near the blade at his neck. "S-so, you see, I-I was -"

"BJORN! WHAT IN HEL'S NAME IS GOIN' ON?"

The loud, interrupting voice startled Garrett, causing him to jolt upward and cut himself, shallowly, on the tip of the blade. He spun his head around, fearing even more retribution.

Another man, equally large and muscled as Bjorn came storming onto the dock, parting the steadily-growing crowd. A large axe hung from the man's back, the tip of the pommel brushing against the man's long, black hair. The crowd regarded him cautiously, and those that weren't pushed out of the way scattered fearfully. He seemed to _radiate_ with authority. Or was that intimidation?

"Margreve, stay out of this!" Bjorn shouted at the newcomer.

Margreve strode right up to Bjorn, red in the face. He briefly glanced at Garrett, but quickly looked away in disinterest. He waved his arms up in the air, his long, braided moustache flowing in the cold breeze. "So you get to make all the judiciary decisions now, do ye? Why wasn't I told of this? I thought we had all agreed on equally distributing governmental authority!"

Bjorn leaned closer, almost spitting with rage, "I can make my own bloody decisions, damn it! I remember, under the code of law, that any man witness to a crime can legally perform a _citizens' arrest_. So, therefore, I don't need your… your _permission!_ " He spat the last word out with disgust, raining spittle down on his enraged tribemate.

Garrett eyed the two, uncertain of his position. A crease of confusion steadily wove its way onto his expression. Is…is this a bad time?

Margreve shoved Bjorn back with both hands, nearly tripping the man up, "You won't need my permission for _anything_ after a hearing is called and a fair, satisfactory punishment is arranged!"

At that, Bjorn yelled and lunged at Margreve, tackling him to the ground as they engaged in a brutal wrestling match. Garrett yelled, scuttling away from the brawling men. His back hit a support beam jutting up over the side of the dock, ocean spray from below wafting up and dampening his clothes.

The crowd gathered back towards shore began to cheer. Cries of "Go Bjorn!" and "Give it to em, Mar!" echoed off the cliffs of the harbor. Garrett stared in disdain as several other fist-fights began breaking out among the gathered, their cheers quickly turning into threats, "Bjorn's decisive! He should be in charge!" "Over my dead body!" "That can be arranged!"

Soon enough, swords and axes were drawn, and the clang of steel-on-steel reverberated through the air. The action even spread up the ramps and into the village proper as neighbors turned on each other, spurred on by the chaos of battle.

Garrett stared blankly. Was this really happening? Was he dreaming?

For sure, this is going on the 'Most unusual' list.

The two Vikings who started it all slammed into the planks near Garrett's feet, snapping him out of his confusion. Bjorn had pinned Margreve, desperately trying to drive a dagger through his chest. With incredible strength, Margreve flipped Bjorn over his head, resuming their lethal wrestling match.

Garrett followed their brawl, his voice weak, barely a whisper, "I… I can see that there's some, uh, tension here," he began to inch his way around the support beam, "So I think that this is the time to see myself out."

The tumbling men didn't even notice.

"Have a, uh, good day, I guess."

Not one of the politically-progressive Vikings noticed the splash Garrett made as he fell into the waves below.

A wet hand leapt out from the water, desperately grasping the rocky edge. Its fingers clenched as it pulled up the rest of the body's weight. Another hand emerged, taking on a similar role.

Garrett's sputtered, gasping for air as soon as his head broke the surface. He pulled himself up over the edge, flopping on his back and breathing deeply. His entire body felt numb and his muscles ached. Either everyone had lied when they told him working a ship would make you toned, or those waves were especially violent.

His body began to shiver when he sat up. Damn Nordic ocean. Why do these madmen live so far north?

Feeling the cold setting in, Garrett pushed himself to his feet, teeth chittering. He looked around, eying his surroundings.

The current had taken him south along the coast, around an outcropping of rock that blocked his view of the pier, although he could barely make out a soft orange glow emanating from the edge.

To his right, a cliff, to which his safe-rock belonged to, jutted up before him. A small ravine broke the cliff face in two, snaking its way inland. While it was wide enough to walk through, it certainly wouldn't be comfortable. To the south, the cliffs curved to the left and out of sight, leaving nothing to view except the expansive ocean.

Garrett shuddered. Nothing could ever be normal, could it? No matter what he did or where he went, people were always trying to change the world. And he _always_ found a way to ruin it. Misfortune seemed to be intricately weaved into his life. If only Dad were still around…

Garrett shook his head. Now was not the time.

A strong wind blew past him, rustling his damp hair. With a sigh, he turned to the ravine and made his way inland, his clothes snagging on every bit of thin underbrush peeking out from the walls. The tight fit was no joke, he barely had room to squeeze in his shoulders.

On he went, his legs switching to autopilot. The ravine gradually began to widen, revealing thicker plant life. Overhead, the sky was beginning to glow a relaxing shade of orange as the sun dipped ever further towards the horizon. Garrett picked up the pace.

His mind began to wander as he walked. What would Dad do in this situation? Probably laugh it all off, the bastard.

Nothing was hard for him. Ever. He was always _such a natural_ at whatever he did. One would think he was the luckiest man alive.

Why didn't Garrett inherit some of it? Selfish ass.

Garrett was only a small boy when his father took him out to live a life at sea. He never knew his mother; Dad didn't like to talk about it. His father loved the ocean, the feeling of the wind rushing past you as you tugged and tied at the rigging. He was never in a bad mood about anything, either. Garrett grudgingly remembered the times he was forced to suffer through his fathers' horribly out-of-tune singing. Every voyage was different, yet the same. They'd make port, deliver their cargo, and pick up a new shanty at the inn.

Then he'd sing it, over and over again, in a never-ending quest to perfect it. Even as storms raged across the sea, he was singing. Nothing could get him down.

It all ended quickly. And now here he was, alone. Well, except for a dragon.

Reminding himself of Saska was enough to snap him out of his reminiscing. He stood level with the trees now, the bottom of the ravine having gently inclined up to the surface. The thick trunks offered welcome shielding from the wind, alleviating some of the freezing pressure.

He began to wander aimlessly, hoping to spot any sign of his little dragon. He didn't yell out for her, in fear of attracting the attention of wandering predators, or worse, blood-crazed Vikings.

He paused as he approached the edge of a cliff. From here, he was able to see almost the entire island. On the other side, off to his right, rose a small ridge of low mountains, tapering off into even smaller foothills dominated by lush foliage. The island was primarily forest, save for a few clearings littered with tree stumps.

To his left, about a mile away, lay the thoroughly-on-fire Viking village. Garrett's eyes widened in surprise. That was fast.

A low, familiar rumbling sounded behind him in the tree line. He didn't even turn around.

"Saska, never underestimate the Viking aptitude for destruction."

He reached behind him and placed his hand on Saska's warm snout. He lowered himself down, aiming to sit down on a fallen trunk. "Thanks for showing up to help. I don't know what I'd have done without you," he said sarcastically.

Saska curled up around the trunk, wrapped her wings around him and crooned in concern at his wet clothes.

Garrett grinned, laughing gently at his dragons' attempts to tug off his tunic. He ran his hand over her forehead ridges, scratching affectionately. He turned his head back to the burning village, observing the carnage.

His eyes drifted to the docks down at the cliffs. His heart sank when he eyed the burning Viking fleet moored there.

His ship was on fire, too.

"Oh, son of A BITCH."

…

"Alright, so you know the plan, right girl?"

Saska growled in confirmation.

"Why don't I believe you?"

Her next growl was less certain.

Garret sighed. "Alright, _one more time_. While we were up on that cliff," he gestured up at the rock face they had been resting on, "We saw a separate group of ships tied down away from the threat of fire. What you'll do, is you'll fly over the village and get the Viking's attention. They probably still hate dragons so you- Saska!"

The dragon had lost interest, instead turning her attention to the burning village. Garrett had to yell and snap in her face to bring her back, "Damned lizard. Just… get their attention away from the docks, okay? Can you do that, your Majesty?"

Garrett could've sworn she rolled her eyes at him. He stepped back and shielded his eyes from dust as she pumped her wings down and took to the darkening sky.

"Ooookay, guess we're going, then."

He fumbled his way through the forest in a direction he hoped would take him to the village. Just follow the heat and glow, right? As he grew closer, he began to make out the yells and screams of the battling natives. Garrett noted their endurance with awe. Did attrition mean nothing to them?

He stepped behind a tree at the border of a clearing. Beyond it lay the first few buildings of the village, luckily untouched by the inferno. For now. The heat was already unbearable, and he was still a considerable distance from the flames. He caught a glance of Saska's silhouette fly through the smoke overhead, followed by a resounding roar. Followed by distant explosions.

Good 'ole Saska.

He sprinted across the clearing, ducking behind the wood hut and panting. He stepped to the corner and peeked his head around. A thin road extended to the left, where it snaked through more trees to the village proper. Seeing the coast was clear, he stepped out to the road.

He wasn't two steps in before the door of the hut burst open, producing two Viking men dueling to the death. One screamed at the other as he buried a massive battle-axe in the other's shield. Garrett screamed in surprise and took off running down the road, hoping to every god ever that he was unnoticed.

The forest path steadily began to fill itself with smoke as he made his way into the beginnings of the fire. Trees all around the path were engulfed, with burning limbs obstructing much of the path. He leapt over them, coughing all the way. He began passing burning houses and noticed several bodies piled up on top of each other in nearby yards. It seemed that the cries of battle had shifted from against one another to the threat of a dragon attack. Shouts of "Dragons!" and "The devils are back!" gradually filled the burning air.

Garrett approached an intersection, the left leading to the docks, and the right leading up to the village's great hall. He was forced to duck behind a pile of bodies gathered on the corner as a large group of voices approached from the left, "Get as many men as ya' can up to the siege weapons! I want those torches lit yesterday!"

Several men acknowledged this and quickened their pace down the road to his right. Garrett held his breath.

As they passed by, Garrett leaped from his hiding place and started to sprint down the left road. Before he could get his momentum, however, a meaty hand grabbed his collar and hoisted him off his feet, "An' where do ya' think _yer_ goin'?"

Garrett's heart beat a million times a minute as he was spun around, coming face-to-face with his captor.

"Bjorn! So good to see you!" Garrett raised up is arms, feigning joy.

Before he could say another word, the man in question raised his arm and punched Garrett straight in the face, stars exploding over his vision. Bjorn leaned in closer, the smell of mead and victory thick in his breath, "Don't think I've forgotten about you, theif. I've got enough problems with the dragons as is, but yer worth the time."

Bjorn reached to his belt and drew his sword drawing it and hoisting it over his shoulder, ready to strike. He grinned, his jagged, uneven teeth drawing all attention from his face, "It's yer fault this all started, boy. Keep that in mind."

An explosion from behind blew Bjorn off his feet, a stray piece of wood slamming into the back of his head. His unconscious body fell on top of Garrett, eliciting a grunt from the scrawny youth. Saska flew overhead, completely smug. Garrett wasn't going to hear the end of this. He wormed his way out from under Bjorn, his breath rapid and shallow, and turned to run down the path. He made it several steps before hesitation.

He looked back to Bjorn's unconscious body sprawled out over the dirt and loose cobblestone. Strapped to his back was the very thing he came here for.

His mind was a blur, his body indecisive. One leg twitched to the left, to keep running. The other motioned to his prize. After several moments, temptation won out as he sprinted over to Bjorn. Fumbling with the straps, he finally managed to free the impressive staff. Not pausing for a second, he took off running down the path, and, in what must've been a new speed record, arrived at the now-abandoned docks.

Garrett sighed in relief. Perhaps Dads' luck was rubbing off, after all?

He sprinted through the burning planks to the side of the harbor yet to be engulfed in fire. He stumbled as he emerged from the fire, coughing and eyes stinging. He desperately searched around in his poor vision for a means of escape. The smoke was making it impossible for him to see more than 5 feet in front of him. He hugged the left edge of the dock, eventually coming upon a gangplank leading off the dock.

He scrambled over, tripped over the end, and fell onto the deck of a Viking longship. He grasped the railing and pulled himself up, untying the knots binding the ship to the harbor. Slowly, it began to drift away from the dock, but not fast enough to avoid the approaching flames. Garrett looked up, and realized in dismay that the sail was not unfurled. He sighed inwardly. Why would it be?

He ran to the mast, working the ropes with amateur hands and unfastening the sail. The wind caught it quickly, causing the ship to lurch towards the open ocean. Garrett took a deep breath, quickly becoming engulfed in a coughing fit, as he emerged from the thick smoke. Several minutes of coughing and ragged breathing passed as he lay there on his hands and knees. On the deck next to him sat the prized staff he spent so much effort to obtain.

It was an impressive work of craftsmanship, to be sure. Made of what seemed to be steel, the weapon was forked at one end, similar to a harpoon, with the rest of the body being wrapped in what Garrett was almost sure was dragon-skin. He could barely lift the damn thing, it being as tall as him and weighing even more.

He pushed himself up to stand, looking back at the rapidly disappearing island. The sun had long since disappeared over the horizon, leaving a very dark blue sky as a background for the plume of fire and smoke reaching up to the heavens. He yelped, flinching as a large force slammed into the deck. He spun around and was met with a very wet, very concerned tongue exploring his face.

He dropped the staff onto the floor and raised his hands up to push off the dragon attack, "Saska, Saska, Saska! Okay! I'm fine!"

She ceased her licking and pressed her head into Garrett's chest, crooning softly. He ran his hand over her neck, "Good work up there, girl."

Saska backed off of Garrett turning her snout down to the staff lying in the deck and sniffing curiously. He crouched down, gliding a hand down the length of the weapon. He looked at Saska, a worm of worry burrowing into his stomach, "Let's hope that gold is worth it."

She growled uncertainly.

…

If it weren't for the abundance of furs he had found below deck, Garrett would surely have frozen to death by now. How did it manage to keep getting colder?

He sailed past wandering icebergs, his grip on the rudder like iron, his gaze never leaving the obstacles. To his fortune, Garrett had stumbled onto a smaller-sized longship back at the harbor, one with which he could solely rely on wind power to get him around. No oars required.

Silence filled the air as he navigated his way through the maze. Below deck, Saska napped happily. Garrett prayed they didn't search his ship. He was plainly aware of his employers' reputation with dragons.

From around ice formations in front of him, two small ships appeared, all manned by a great deal of men wearing white fur pelts. It was made obvious that Garrett was to follow closely.

The trio of vessels made their way through caves formed out of a single, massive iceberg. Garrett would've marveled at the sight had he not been fearing for his life.

They began passing more and more ships, some incredibly huge and reinforced with iron. All around him were men shouting orders at each other, the whole fleet anchored there a beehive of activity. They slowly sailed towards a single, gargantuan ship standing vigilant at the center of the formation. The two escorts at either side hemmed him in, restricting his movement to only forward.

As they approached what must've been the flagship, men on the escorts began yelling at him to stop. Garrett ran down to the main mast and began working with the ropes, quickly tying up the sail. A gangplank was thrown over the side of the ship to his left, connecting the two craft. Several armed men stormed aboard his ship, brandishing all sorts of horrifying weaponry. One man, sporting an unusual white bear fur and an equally confusing moustache approached him, his tone foreign and intimidating, "Come with us. Bring the staff."

Garrett retrieved the staff, sitting peacefully near the rudder, and boarded the other ship. He prayed more than he ever had that this wouldn't be his last time boarding a ship.

The gangplank was brought back aboard as they began approaching the flagship, quickly settling beside it. The size was incomparable. The sides of the ship could've fit two or three of these escorts within it, and that's not including the submerged sections. Several ropes were thrown over the sides of the massive vessel, with men on the escort scrambling to secure them in place. As they were pulled taught, the man who confronted Garrett turned once again towards him, "Climb," and gestured to the ladder ingrained on the side.

With the staff strapped to his back, Garrett began his ascent, nearly losing his grip several times, to the dismay of the men below him. He scrambled up and over the railings, landing on his feet with a thud. He waited for the following men to reach the deck, then was prodded forward none-too-kindly to the bow of the ship.

There, he found a large man with dark, braided hair and a black, flowing cape of dragon-skin standing over a table, observing a map. Several other men stood around the table as well, conversing with each other, but not with the dark-haired man.

One of the escorts held Garrett back, forcing him to stop. The man stepped in front and addressed the man at the table, "Sir, the merchant has arrived."

Without looking back, the dark-haired leader questioned the escort disinterestedly, "Did he bring what I want?"

The escort's voice seemed to quiver, "Yes, he did."

The leader, still not turning his gaze from the map, gestured with his hand to hand over the merchandise.

Before Garrett could react, the staff was torn from his back, the leather attaching it to him slashed. He spun around, a protest forming, then dying as a sword came up and hovered over his chest. He was quick to silence himself.

The man who took the staff tossed it towards the dark-haired leader, who caught it with one hand without looking. He stood up, admiring the staff. Garrett sat there in silence, a desperate urge to leave gnawing at him. After several moments, the man reached inside his vest and produced a pouch, which he threw back. It impacted on Garrett's chest, causing him to stumble backwards. Still without looking, the leader's deep, hoarse voice addressed him, "You're payment. Now leave."

His escorts spun him around, herding him back to the railing. He marveled at the pouch full of coin which he cradled against him. As shady as the job was, he was right to take it. This amount of gold would last him a good, long time. That's all that mattered, right?

Before he knew it, he was back aboard his ship and being yelled at again to turn it around and sail back the way he had come. With a reckless amount of speed, Garrett sailed out of the iceberg, grateful to be back out at sea.

He leaned to his right, closer to the floor, and yelled, "Saska! You still down there?"

He was met with an annoyed growl.

Garrett leaned back up, chuckling to himself as he steered the rudder. The sun was just beginning to set, a full week having passed since the events at the Viking village. He gazed out at the sunset, pondering over the quickest way to spend their pay.

"Good 'ole Saska."

…

 **Sup**

 **As you might notice, my (weak) strength seems to lie in exposition, rather than POV. I guess that's part of the improving process, I guess.**

 **Doesn't mean it doesn't suck.**

 **Hope you guys enjoyed!**


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